American Summers
by shotabooty
Summary: His skin's sun kissed as opposed to scorched and Berwald's silently envious.


**a/n:** written for the aph kink meme because i fell in love with this pairing. edited from the meme because late night editing made for some awkward wording and mistakes that needed fixing.

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Sometimes Berwald thinks he hates America. Times when it's too hot and he's been working outside for too long, sweating, sunburned, and sore. Sometimes it's a wonder why he stayed there at all. It was supposed to be a temporary thing and within a year he'd be going back to Sweden where he'd start his own business.

Four years later and he'd only gone back for short visits with an eccentric American in tow.

He likes to think maybe someday he'll return. When he's old, grey, and knows how to ask for what he wants. He misses it a terrible amount, much more than he'd say, but Berwald was never good with words so that was no surprise. Alfred knows it, but he's too absent minded and self absorbed. Week long vacations were enough when they got to come home to the land of freedom and opportunity. His stars and stripes attitude was a little annoying, a lot annoying really, but that could be said about most of his traits.

They're out back and it's way too hot to be doing anything more than lazing around inside with the AC on, or going up to the snow, but they've worked through the morning and it's well into the afternoon. It's coming along nicely, he has to admit. Alfred's a great help. Headstrong and stubborn, but in the endless days and nights they've developed a way about them. They work well together, Alfred's learned to take some direction because he knows Berwald is better at all of this than him. He can help carry things, and hold them in place; can cut and shape when needed, but Berwald is the one who knows the construction and can fit it all together to make something spectacular. Things he'd never dream of, or rather would only dream of with no way to bring it into the real world, came to Berwald easy as he spoke his native tongue.

Berwald's hot, sticky, and only now realizing he's got paint speckling a good majority of him. He rubs his forehead, wishes they could have done this another day, but they'd been neglecting it and Alfred had been pouting for the past week. He should be more understanding. Four years and Berwald still isn't used to the heat. Alfred remains unfazed as ever by it, how he manages to grin that wide in such conditions will be an unanswered question. His skin's sun kissed as opposed to scorched and Berwald's silently envious.

"It's looking great! Oh man this is going to be so bad ass once it's got all the stars and stripes on it!" Berwald watches as he scrambles up the ladder, gleaming and giddy once on the platform that gives them room to walk. The wonder in his eyes is childish, such a contrast to Berwald's own unintended maturity. His brows furrow and he looks angry, but Alfred doesn't bat a lash. He's too busy circling the platform and examining the Swedish handiwork.

"Already told ya, no stripes, no stars." When Alfred pops back around his frown is dangerously close to a pout. Berwald tries not to be flustered over it, or guilty, because they'd had this conversation too many times already.

"Come on! It'd look totally awesome, we can't just leave the outside one color, that'll be so boring!" There's a whine to his voice that some might call Berwald crazy for finding irresistible at times. Right now it's just annoying.

"The top'll be different," he provides, "an the inside. Stop complaining." Alfred still looks unhappy, because he can be selfish at times. A lot of times. But he's still young and it's far too easy to forgive him. Berwald raises the rolling brush he'd been painting with, leaves a dab of light blue on Alfred's nose, and delights in how he goes cross eyed over it. He presses the brush against his chest, smearing more paint onto his shirt, and in the confusion of not expecting it Alfred takes the handle to keep it from falling. This frees up Berwald's hands and gives him enough time to escape down the ladder.

Once down he knows he should head inside quickly, but he can't help a look. Berwald is always proud of his work, he has his insecurities about it, but he puts his best into it and ensures he always creates something to look at fondly. It really is looking good. A year in the making, something he almost feels guilty for, but there were other things to work on and those were the ones that brought in money. Much as he would have liked to finish this for Alfred sooner providing coverage for the bills was more important than a tree house.

He closes his eyes and thinks back to the day Alfred proposed to the idea. How he had slammed the piece of paper down on the table, exciting and proud of his stroke of genius. It was times like that Berwald envied him, he was always so reserved and unsure in his own ways where as Alfred was idiotically exposed about everything. It looked like a kid drew it, an untalented kid, scratchy and difficult to make heads or tails of, but Alfred got the point across. He'd always wanted one, he explained, and it was the reason he had been so intent on the house they were in. All because of the tree out back, sturdy limbed, the best foundation for his 'super awesome HQ'. Berwald had no objections to it, and even if he did he could never voice them, not with how happy Alfred was about the whole thing.

Besides, he might want kids one day and kids loved tree houses.

There's an arm around his shoulders and Berwald's default expression when startled would be enough to send anyone scrambling and cowering. Alfred's used to it by now and instead there's only the fleeting feeling of lips against the side of his mouth. Berwald flushes and it's hardly noticeable against his sun seared cheeks.


End file.
